


Moats and boats and waterfalls

by frenchkiss



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, M/M, Nightmares, Past Abuse, Post-Canon, Rimming, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 13:42:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7686781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frenchkiss/pseuds/frenchkiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A post-KR fic. Laurent's turning 21. Damen's trying to make it perfect. As usual, things don't go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moats and boats and waterfalls

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first piece of fic for this pairing, the pairing that killed me stone dead with feels and now I can't stop reading/writing about.
> 
> Trigger warnings apply for mentions of Laurent's abuse!!
> 
> Thanks a million to Mari @princesgambit aka the bestest beta, for humouring me and being a huge support through all this and not letting me scrap all this, you're the greatest<3
> 
> Further shoutouts to Ju @hellolover for throwing me down this rabbit hole and encouraging this piece of word vomit.
> 
> Okay, enjoy!!

To be in love with Laurent is to be in love with the little things. This has always been Damen’s take on it, anyway. There was only one love he held before Laurent, and she was entirely different to the man he now shares his bed with, although there is one thing they both have in common, and that is hating anything to do with romance.

The thing is, Damen adores romance. He loves courting Laurent, even though he insists it is no longer courting as they might as well be married. He loves the way Laurent looks in the mornings, the way it is probably the only time he looks anything less than perfect. He still looks gorgeous, but slightly less put together, soft and gentle; his blond hair mused all over the pillows, his snuffling snores, his morning breath, his ugly yawning face. Damen loves it all.

Time seems to be getting away from them of late, and it is often that they only see each other in the mornings. And even then, Laurent is often out of their bed before Damen has opened his eyes. But recently, much to Damen’s delight, he has been staying longer, lying beside him with his papers or his maps, just long enough to see Damen rise. Then he departs after a quick kiss, and Damen is left infinitely wanting more, though he fears he’ll never quite get enough, not of Laurent.

Tonight, however, things are to be different. Unbeknownst to Laurent, Damen has insisted that all meetings, discussions, training sessions and formal affairs that involve either of them are to be postponed for the next four days. Tomorrow is Laurent’s twenty-first Name Day, and he intends to spend as much time coaxing pretty sounds and cries of his own name out of Laurent as he can. Four days seems fairly short though, at least to Damen.

He already knows how this is going to go. Laurent will groan and fuss and pretend not to be endeared, but in the end it will be just the two of them, their bed, soft kisses and a vial of Laurent’s favourite oil. By the second day Laurent will try to leave bed, but Damen will wrap a loose arm around his waist and kiss across his shoulders, telling him he isn’t needed anywhere but here. Laurent will make a comment about how he is the most important man in the palace and he should have gone back to Vere a long time ago, but then he’ll relent and let Damen take him once more.

Damen can hardly wait.

A single red rose. That’s what he’d disappeared after supper to collect, leaving nothing more than a brief kiss to Laurent’s cheek and a few whispered words about returning to their bedchambers. Laurent had huffed and said he will do whatever he damn well pleases, but they both know it’s only show. Laurent will be there – Damen can easily picture him lying atop the covers of their shared bed, book in hand, maybe a chalice of wine in the other. The thought makes him grow impatient, so he speeds his steps through the palace, grinning softly to himself.

Everyone he passes must know where he is going, what is on his mind. He could not care less; in fact, he finds it rather exciting. Laurent is very beautiful, very desirable, and he is the only one who gets the privilege. That feels like the greatest honour ever bestowed to him, greater than any battle he’s ever one, greater than any treaty he’s ever signed.

He approaches the corridor that leads to his chambers, two guards outside. By the looks of things, they haven’t yet seen him approach, and as he steps closer, hidden from view by a pillar, that fact is made even more clear as he catches wind of their conversation.

“I do not think it true,” the one of the right is saying. “How can he stay faithful when he was so known previously as a manwhore?”

“Agreed,” the other murmurs in agreement. “He must spend time in the company of others. He said it himself, that he prefers women. All his bedslaves were women. I do not see how he can suddenly devout himself to one man, a man as frigid and tainted as Laurent of Vere, of all people.”

Blood boiling, Damen doesn’t realise that he’s crushed his rose until a thorn pricks his thumb. He drops its crumpled remains to the floor, in time to hear the first guard say, “He must fuck like a weathered whore. He looks as if his arse would be nice and tight, do you not think?”

The second guard cackles. “True enough,” he replies. “I am curious to fuck him just to know what he is like in bed.”

“An opportunity you will never have, not in this life or the next,” Damen growls, stepping into view. Both guards dissolve into a deathly pale, rigid in fear. He moves close, right up to their faces, and when he next speaks flecks of spit fly from his mouth. He pays it no minds. “How dare you speak of either of us like that? I, as your King? Do you have no respect?”

“Exalted,” one tries, but Damen silences him with a single glance.

“Save it,” he spits. “You are never to work in my house again. Your words are unforgivable.” He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down a touch, before he yells, “Guards!”

Three more come running in his direction instantly, and he grabs the traitor closest to him and shoves him towards them. He stumbles but the other three do not dare to try and steady him.

“See to it that these pair are thrown from my home,” Damen snaps. “In fact, no, wait. Have them thrown in the dungeons for a bit. That will hopefully serve as a lesson. I’ll deal with them after next council.”

The pair begin to babble meaningless apologies, but Damen is already stalking away, towards his and Laurent’s shared rooms. “And arrange new guards for outside my rooms!”

He takes the corridor in a few long, angry strides and practically flings the door open, near hitting Laurent in the face. Laurent takes a step back and holds up his hands, cocking a brow. “Damen?”

At the sight of his lover Damen immediately softens, letting out a long sigh and lolling his head back. He kicks the door closed behind him before he tumbles forwards into Laurent, who wordlessly wraps his arms around Damen’s neck.

Damen must look a state because it is not at all like Laurent to not question why he is like this. Chances are that Laurent heard the commotion outside as well, hence him being stood so close to the door. He takes a few deep breaths, the familiar scent of the one he calls home enough to steady his head, and then he pulls back and presses a fast, chaste kiss to Laurent’s slack mouth.

“Without you I would be nothing,” he says, apropos of nothing. “I will not let anyone have you think otherwise.”

Laurent remains silent for a few moments, nodding. Damen breaks the hold to move towards the little table in the centre of their chambers that holds wine and a plate of fruits and pastries. Grabbing a clean goblet, he feels it to the brim with tipple and forces it down his throat in seconds.

Laurent just watches, hands on hips. Another cup full of wine, and Damen makes to move back towards Laurent, who side-steps him with practiced ease.

“Whatever the scuffle out there, I’m not sure wine is the answer,” he says primly. “I did not hear much outside of your shouting, Damen. Do you want to tell me why we need new guards?”

“I had a rose for you,” Damen says, instead of answering. “I wanted to do this night properly.”

Laurent eyes him warily. “Contrary to popular belief, I have actually bedded you before. It is hardly our First Night.”

“I wanted to give you the rose, though,” Damen says stubbornly. He tosses the empty cup to one side and groans, pinching the bridge of his nose harshly. “Everything was to be perfect, and those dogs outside have ruined it for me.”

“Does that mean it is ruined for me also?”

Damen fights the urge to glare. “It might if I tell you what I heard. I do not wish to tell you, Laurent.”

Both of Laurent’s carefully groomed brows shoot up. “We both know you are going to,” he says sagely after a pause. “What did they insult? Myself, Vere, or our coupling? Is it anything we have not heard before?”

“Mostly our coupling, and me also,” Damen shrugs. “They made jibes about my faithfulness to you because of my preferences to women, which you know does not mean anything to me anymore, and then they made comments about how tight you must be. Their words were repugnant and frankly I think I did them a kindness, only cutting out their tongues.”

He knows better than to expect an answer from Laurent straight away, so he waits, silent, as Laurent mulls over everything Damen just said. Although tempted to throw back a third cup of wine, he refrains. He has no intention of pissing Laurent off any more than he probably already has.

Finally, Laurent says, “They think you unfaithful to me?”

This is not what Damen was expecting. Knowing Laurent as he does, he had been anticipating a comment about the guards having only their fists to fuck lately, or something about how he still couldn’t give two shits about what any Akielon guard has to say about him when they are all ugly themselves. But he looks at Damen, arms crossed, and it is then that Damen realises he has been silent for way too long.

“I… well,  _ of course _ I’m not unfaithful to you,” he splutters, taking a step forward, only to be stopped by Laurent raising a hand. “Laurent…”

“That is not what I asked,” says Laurent coldly. “I asked if they think you to be unfaithful to me. Was it that, or was it that they assume your unfaithfulness because you used to prefer women?”

This is absolutely not how Damen wanted these few days to begin. Laurent doesn’t even know what Damen has in store for him, yet here they are, arguing, and Damen can already feel Laurent’s looming threat to stomp out the room and not return until way after nightfall.

“It was…” Damen sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “They said they were unbelieving of my ability to stay faithful to you because of my past, because of the many bedslaves I used to keep,” he explains. “But that means nothing, lover, you must know…”

“Oh, I know,” Laurent says breezily. “Damen, _ darling _ , do you think me stupid?”

“What?”

Laurent scoffs, “Do you really think I would not know if you weren’t being faithful to me?” And then, “You are not that clever, lover. What I don’t understand is why you’ve let their childish speculations upset you so much.”

“I…” Damen says, cautiously moving forward to reach for Laurent again. This time, Laurent moves towards him and winds his arms around his neck, which eases a lot of the tension from Damen’s body. “These next few days were supposed to be perfect, that is all. And I had many plans for you and I together and just…”

“You are a fool,” Laurent says, just enough softness in his tone for Damen to know he is not as angry as he was letting on, and then, “And you should have had their tongues cut out.” He snorts. “You may be a giant animal but you are soft.” Grinning, Damen shakes his head, fond. Laurent thumbs lightly at the back of his neck and asks, “So what is happening over the next few days? Are you whisking me off to a far off place?”

Damen kisses him, just once, soft. “Not quite,” he mumbles against Laurent’s lips. “I thought here might do. You and I together, undisturbed for your twenty-first Name Day.”

“But what if I want a party?” Laurent presses, tilting his head to one side. “Do I not get a say in how I spend the night of my day of birth?”

“I can arrange a banquet if that is what you wish,” Damen says with a slight shrug. “Hell, I can arrange us a few days away wherever you wish. I could…”

“You could shut up,” Laurent suggests, eyes twinkling. “And let me thank you for even thinking of me on my Name Day.” A kiss, and then another grin, this time one wide enough to show his teeth. “Thank you.”

Damen matches his smile. “Of course,” he grins. “And I’ve cancelled all our appointments for four days hence. You have me and I have you fully until next council.”

Laurent lets out a sound that seems a cross between a snort and a gasp. “I cannot be away from things that long,” he glowers, swatting at Damen’s chest. “I am trying to aid running two nations here.”

“Vere will not fall apart without you,” Damen assures. “Jord has happily taken charge and promises to only intrude if something very major happens.”

“ _ Damianos, _ ” Laurent says warningly. “We cannot be absent that long, for the love of…”

“If we were to ride from here to Marlas it would take around four days, probably longer,” Damen tells him. “What is the difference? We will be here if it all goes wrong, anyway. I would prefer it not to, but that is the worst case. Until then…” Another kiss, this time to the corner of Laurent’s mouth. “Let me have this. Let me spoil my love, let me celebrate him existing.”

“I should be angry with you,” Laurent says, then stamps on Damen’s toe. Damen whines and takes a step back, glaring, but then Laurent charges forward and throws his arms back around Damen and kisses him harshly, more teeth than anything else. The noise of surprise that Damen comes out with is not one that he is proud of, but he grips at Laurent’s shoulders and kisses back.

They tumble to the bed, and they kiss, and they kiss, and they kiss.

All things considered, Damen has had worse evenings.

*

The next morning Laurent awakens to Damen’s mouth around his cock.

Close, so close already, and his limbs are still heavy and cumbersome with sleep. He manages to twist his clumsy fingers into Damen’s hair, enough to slightly work his head up and down as he pleases. Damen complies, gripping Laurent’s milky thighs tight, tight enough to bruise, and Laurent comes easily with a crow of Damen’s name.

Panting, he yanks Damen up so he’s hovering over him, then licks into his mouth lazily. Damen does taste rather disgusting but he can’t exactly say he minds. Damen does this thing to him that makes his head spin, that throws all rational thought away and turns his brain to mush. No place has ever felt safer than Damen’s side and Laurent relishes this, the slow, unhurried brushing of lips and twisting of tongues.

Never one to voice his feelings, he breaks the kiss and pretends to look stern. “I should be at my desk now,” he says. Damen rolls his eyes.

“Be thankful for once that you are not,” he tells him. “Happy Name Day, lover. May I tell you that without you snapping?”

“Certainly not,” Laurent tuts. “I am very grateful you have spoiled me so, by letting me wake up to your ugly face.”

“You are welcome,” Damen simpers. Then he kisses Laurent again, long and slow. “You slept well last night,” he observes. “It is nearing mid-morning. Clearly you need the break and the rest.”

“I have no qualms about leaving you here in bed, hard as you are, if this attitude persists,” Laurent tells him.  “In fact…”

“Don’t you dare,” Damen growls, low in his throat, and uses his legs to box Laurent in, his semi-hard cock brushing against Laurent’s thigh. Laurent grins and cocks a brow. “If you think you’re leaving bed except to piss and eat and maybe to bathe…”

“Bathe?” Laurent says, interest suddenly piqued. A bath with lots of oils and Damen rubbing his feet and shoulders sounds like an excellent way to begin his Name Day. “I could bathe.”

Damen sighs long-sufferingly and tuts. “Really?”

Laurent nods eagerly. “Yes. A bath. And you, of course, lover. We may be leaving bed but never fear, you may still attend to me as I wash. I know how much you’d  _ hate  _ for anyone else to snatch that honour from you.”

Damen sighs again. “As you wish, Name Day princeling.”

“ _ Excuse me _ ?” Laurent pinches him harshly. “ _ Princeling _ ? Need I remind you that I could sever our treaty at any time for that kind of language. I am a King and you will do well to remember that, Damianos of Akielos.”

“We have said much worse to one another, you big baby,” Damen says, then scoops Laurent up before he can protest and carries him towards their bathrooms. Laurent yelps and wriggles, nearly getting himself dropped on his arse. Damen ignores him and keeps moving, as if Laurent weighed no more than a feather. He’s still hard, Laurent notes as he goes to hit him there, but Damen is smart to all his best moves by now.

A bath has already been drawn for them, much to Laurent’s surprise. He raises an eyebrow and stares down at Damen, a position he does not find himself in often. Damen dwarfs him in size. “You really have everything planned, do you not?”

“I remember what you like,” Damen muses. “I know how to treat him well. Chamomile, rosewater and lavender are your three favourites, are they not?”

“No,” Laurent replies, just to be difficult. He wriggles again and Damen sets him down. “Go on then, attend me.”

He’s only wearing a sleeping tunic, long enough so that it covers his thighs, but Damen makes a fair show of its removal. Hands take their time roaming the plains of his back and Laurent can hear Damen’s laboured breathing from behind him. It still baffles him a little just how affected Damen can get from his body alone, and he quashes down the jealousy he feels when he remembers how well he fits to the ‘type’ that everyone knows Damen to have.

“So beautiful,” Damen says, unprompted. But it comes as if he knows, as if he can see straight inside Laurent’s jumbled mind. “The most beautiful soul in Akielos, Vere, and all the nations. My Laurent.”

“Flattery will not get you very far,” Laurent tries to grumble, but they both know he is lying. Now he stands naked in front of Damen, also naked, and they are a foot or so apart, untouching. Damen reaches for his hand and guides him carefully down the marble steps, then sinks into the water. Laurent follows and allows Damen to wrap his arms around him once more. The warm water and the pleasant fragrances around him take some of the edge off his perpetually aching muscles, and he lets his head loll back against Damen’s shoulder, a hand covering his where it rests on Laurent’s stomach.

Two years ago, Laurent would have laughed in the face of anyone who suggested he would be able to put his guard down like this, to feel this way about another human being, an  _ Akielon  _ no less. He would have scoffed, then laughed again, then probably ordered them flogged. Nineteen-year-old Laurent ordered more people to be flogged than he’s proud of. He hasn’t ordered anybody flogged since… well.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Damen mutters. Laurent sighs. “Stop thinking so hard.”

“It’s… hard,” Laurent says before he can stop himself. He sighs again. “I don’t think I know how to not be so active all the time.”

“Do you trust me?” Damen asks. Hesitant, Laurent nods. “Well then. You think I would have given us the time away if I did not feel we could take it?”

“Yes,” Laurent grumbles. “You are too trusting and apparently you love me way too much.”

“Too much is never enough,” Damen replies. “Kiss me.”

They remain in the baths until the water runs cold and their fingers and toes have shrivelled like prunes. Once Laurent starts to complain Damen hoists him out onto the side of the bath, but before he can stand Damen wraps a hand around his ankle.

“What are you doing?” asks Laurent. Damen smirks.

“How many times do you reckon I can make the Name Day princeling come?” he challenges. “Three more times? Four more times?”

“None with that attitude,” Laurent huffs, but he can’t help but shuffle a little closer to Damen once more, curious. “Why aren’t you climbing out of the baths then? If you want to fuck me…”

“Lie down on your back,” Damen instructs. “Spread your legs.”

“Am I your slave now?” Laurent hisses, gasping as Damen tugs him forward. His legs dangle over Damen’s shoulders, his entire private area now at Damen’s mercy. “Damen, what are you…  _ oh.” _

The first lick comes as a shock, the second a beat later. Practiced fingers spread Laurent’s cheeks easily and Damen’s face presses right inside, nose to taint, mouth to hole. Laurent lets out a whine so loud he has to cover his mouth with his hands lest the servants hear them. Damen, the brute, seems unperturbed and carries on his assault, licking and kissing at Laurent’s most intimate area like it’s his mouth.

It’s messy and dirty, and Laurent feels spit coat the tops of his legs as Damen licks with little finesse. Laurent is torn between the urge to squirm away and the urge to shuffle closer; he hasn’t much choice in the matter, not with the way Damen’s grip on his thighs has not let up one bit. Within minutes his brain is mush, completely fuddled with pleasure, and he cannot do much more than awkwardly tangle his hands in Damen’s hair and slur out his name a few times.

“ _ Damen, _ ” he sighs, legs twitching as his orgasm starts to coil in his belly, hot and tight. “So good, so fucking  _ good. _ ”

Damen, unsurprisingly, does not reply, but he does grunt and double his efforts, giving his lover’s hole a lick so forceful it pushes inside a little. Laurent hisses, certain in that moment that the orgasm he will have from this will be his demise. Damen begins to tease him then, slowing down and then speeding up, taking Laurent to the edge and stopping just before he can topple over.

Like waves in a crashing storm, Laurent finds himself thrashing. It is not often he lets himself go in this manner, not even with Damen, but this –  _ this –  _ is pleasure unrivalled to any he has felt in so long. So many factors make this unacceptable – they are fucking on the floors of the royal baths, Damen has his  _ mouth  _ where it should not be, it feels good, so  _ good… _

“ _ Damen, _ ” Laurent near screams, tugging on his curls. His limbs feel like they are in spasm, his body too tightly wound to do more than kick Damen weakly on the shoulder. “Please, please,  _ oh please. _ ”

And then he’s coming, unexpected,  _ hard,  _ fast, loud. Damen licks him through it and only stops to remove his mouth once Laurent starts to protest, too sensitive for anymore. Finally, he relents and sits back in the water of the bath. Laurent can’t lift his head, but he manages to lift his hands and make a crude gesture in Damen’s direction. He doesn’t see, but he does hear Damen’s sharp cackle of laughter, then he hears him move from the bath and up the steps.

He peers down and Laurent splutters as little droplets of water fall onto his face and into his eyes. He glares and holds up his hands for Damen to bring him to his feet, which he does, then he lets him take the brunt of his weight.

“You need another clean,” Damen remarks, humour lacing his words. “You are positively filthy, Laurent.”

“Fuck you,” Laurent retorts, which only serves to make Damen laugh louder. “My body aches. If you want me to be washed you can damn well do it yourself.”

“Such a kind and generous lover,” says Damen, honey-sweet. But he obliges, keeping an arm around Laurent’s waist as he reaches for a washcloth laid out on one of the low tables. He lets Laurent topple gracelessly onto one of the low couches, then he spreads his legs once more and cleans him. Laurent eyes him with distaste, hating how boneless he feels and how there are already questions whirring around his brain.

“What made you do that?” he asks, voice quiet. “That is… not a place I thought one would want to put their mouth.”

Damen looks at him, shrugging, lazy and unabashed. “Why not? I used to do it on women. Jokaste would…”

Laurent cuts him off with a sharp crack of laughter, hollow, and in seconds Damen’s expression has gone from jovial to guilty and terrified.  _ Good,  _ Laurent thinks. Only an idiot would bring up past lovers on their current lover’s Name Day, yet Damen somehow managed to do it uncaringly, unthinkingly.  _ I am in love with a prize fool. _

“Forgive me,” Damen is quick to say. “I spoke out of turn, I did not think.”

“No, you didn’t, did you?” Laurent replies haughtily. “So I will ask you the question again, and this time I expect an answer that will not earn you a slap around your pretty face. So tell me, please,  _ lover,  _ why did you put your mouth on me like that?”

“Because I wanted to give you pleasure,” Damen replies, quick as lightning. “I wanted to make it known to you that I love every part of you. I love the way you taste, the way you feel, the way you are when you receive pleasure.”

Laurent’s brows are once again high. “Keep talking,” he prods, voice edging on dangerous. He is going to make Damen earn this forgiveness.  _ Honestly.  _ “And carry me to the bedroom.”

Damen rises and leans forward, enough for Laurent to wrap his arms around his neck. He slides an arm under Laurent’s legs and then brings himself back to full height, moving them both through their rooms and back towards their bed.

Setting him down, Damen rolls on top of him and boxes him in with his strong thighs, a foolish move. Laurent yelps and tries to shove, still angry as a raging bull, but Damen pins both his wrists above his head and holds him firm.

“This is assault,” Laurent protests angrily. “Let me  _ go,  _ Damen, I do not want you touching me right now.”

“Laurent,” Damen says, a touch of desperation in his tone. “I was unthinking. I am the greatest fool in Akielos. I don’t know why I said that.”

“Never do that again,” Laurent hisses. “Never do that again or I will get a horse from the stables and ride my way back to Vere. You will never see me again.”

“Lover, I beg of you,” Damen says. He sounds slightly hysterical. “I would sooner slit my own throat than offend you in this manner, especially after pleasuring you. I wasn’t thinking.”

Silence.

“I love you,” blurts Damen. Laurent snorts but Damen barrels on. “Sometimes I forget…” He sighs, forlorn. If Laurent didn’t know him better than he knows himself then he probably would not believe that here stands Damianos of Akielos, Prince-Killer, famed soldier and man of men, bearing open his soul. “With you I am more myself than I have ever been. I do forget that that doesn’t mean I can just say exactly what is on my mind. I forget that there was a time when we were not as we are now, and that there were people before you. Nobody has ever held my heart as you have, nor will anyone. I…” He groans. “I am so bad with words, Laurent, forgive me.”

Laurent wants to shout at him some more. He wants to make his life hell for the rest of the day, and he wants to slap him across the face and tell him that he has no excuse for what he said. He wants to kick up a fuss only to come crawling back a lot later, to then have Damen grovel and beg and then take Laurent again and again, because yes, Damen is horrible with words but excellent with his body, with his fingers and his cock.

But there is a part of Laurent that cannot do that. Laurent believes and knows every word Damen utters to be the truth. He knows what it is like to forget that there was a time when things were a lot worse than they are now. There was a time where he had sworn to himself he would never take a lover, not after what had happened the last time. He had thought himself broken, hurt, useless, damaged goods. He thought that no man would want the Regent’s sloppy seconds because he was older, inexperienced, and frigid, as talk around Vere’s courts frequently reminded him.

Talk is cheap, Damen had once said to him. People only talk because they cannot act, and Laurent acts. Laurent knows there was a time when he did not trust Damen, but then all of a sudden he trusted Damen whole-heartedly, unequivocally. And once he handed his beating heart to the man that now looms over him, blinking, silent, waiting, he was gone. He was a new man, a better man, and he hates how easily he lets himself forgive him.

His first instinct, his natural instinct, however, is still to hurt back those who hurt him. And with Damianos, that means reminding him of his past, of how much Laurent went through without him there. So instead of deigning him with the response he knows Damen wants, he says, “Today is the first occasion I’ve wanted to celebrate my Name Day since Auguste was alive.”

Damen’s face sinks even further. “Laurent…”

“I love you too, but you are a magnificent arse,” he huffs. “You make it so difficult for me to be angry and I hate it.”

“I will do anything to make it up to you,” Damen promises, then leans down, careful, like he isn’t sure he’s allowed, to press the softest of kisses upon Laurent’s cheek. Laurent feels himself flush and he has to bite down the urge to kick Damen hard where it will hurt the most.

Both still naked as the days they were born, Laurent presses a firm hand at the centre of Damen’s chest and pushes, pushes until he relents and moves off him. Laurent rises from the bed and moves to collect a towel, starting to feel uncomfortable and a little cold from the baths.

“I want a feast,” he says, just to be difficult. “Tonight. Attendance is compulsory and everything has to be my favourites, from the food to the wine to the entertaining.”

Damen nods, as though all Laurent has asked for is a cup of water. “Alright,” he agrees. “Seven courses?”

“Ten,” Laurent corrects. “And I want platters of Veretian truffles as the first one.”

Damen snorts. “I love you enough to send riders to Vere for truffles, yes, but they are not magic. There is no chance they will return in time.”

Laurent petulantly has to agree. “Fine,” he acquiesces. “But I do want three whole roast boar as the main course, followed by sweetmeats and pastries. Can you manage that, oh great Exalted one?”

“Do you doubt me?” Damen challenges. “Do you think I would have my house put on a banquet for you that is any less than your highest standard?”

“Prove it then, Akielon brute.”

“Oh, I will, lover,” Damen replies, sly. “Just you wait and see.”

*

Laurent has to admit that Damen has done sickeningly well.

Given the fact that he gave the deadline of tonight to be difficult, what Damen has instructed to be put together in seven hours or so is incredible. The banquet hall is decorated head to toe in Veretian colours and Veretian décor, and candles burn bright enough to illuminate the entire room. There’s golden plates at every table setting, and the hall will easily seat a hundred people or more. The smells of wine, breads, and roasting meats fill Laurent’s nose as he steps inside, arm wound loosely through Damen’s and dressed up to the nose in Veretian finery, something he doesn’t often dress himself fully in these days.

Having spent the bulk of the afternoon both reading to and fucking Damen, Laurent is a little pleased to get some time outside of his chambers. He loves his rooms here (even more so now Damen has allowed him to dress the walls and shelves with ornaments and tapestries), but now he and Damen have (mostly) made up and he’s felt able to celebrate his Name Day again he wants to do it in his own way. He takes several beats to relish the polite applause that spreads around the room as he enters, then carefully strides to take his seat at the high table, Damen on one side and Jord on his other.

“Good evening, His Highness,” Jord greets. Laurent murmurs a greeting back, then turns back to Damen, who despite everything hasn’t left Laurent’s side all day or evening. He’s mainly been communicating through guards and messengers, and once did he call for the master of the kitchens so Laurent could lay out the plans for his feast directly to him. Laurent had felt a tad guilty about asking them to accumulate all this decadence at such short notice, but the kitchen master took it in his stride and had the preparations begun immediately. Even now, slaves mill around the tables, platters of fruit and breads set down in front of those interested.

“You have done well,” Laurent compliments, squeezing Damen’s hand before dropping it and reaching for a bread roll. He tears it in two and pops a crust into his mouth. “It smells amazing and the décor is… well. Do not make me say it.”

Damen laughs and kisses the side of his head. There was a time not too long ago that Laurent would have flinched away from the public affection, but it’s something he warms to. On days like today, he reminds himself of two things – one, everyone knows of their coupling anyway, and two, if he wants to celebrate his Name Day as he deserves, he is going to have to accept and expect kisses from his lover.

The food comes quickly and he indulges in the first couple of courses without any preamble. The hall is loud and there’s a group of musicians playing in the far left corner, a mix of traditional Akielon party music interspersed with some of Laurent’s favourite pieces. Everything feels meticulously laid out, definitely more meticulously done than he expected Damen to pull out in half a day. Perhaps Damen, with his sly ways and big, innocent eyes, had all this planned already. Perhaps he knew in the back of his mind that Laurent would be difficult and demanding, or predictably spontaneous. And if his spontaneity is becoming predictable… well. Maybe he’s getting soft, or else maybe he just needs to show Damen who is the boss here.

Which is when, as the servants bring out platters of smaller pieces before the main dishes are brought out, he gets a wicked idea.

“Sweetmeat?” Laurent prompts, smirking as he lifts it from the golden platter. Damen rolls his eyes but obediently opens his mouth for the morsel, making quite the show as he licks the sugar and honey from Laurent’s fingers. Laurent stays still as a statue, forcing his eyes to remain open as he watches the whole ordeal, and once it’s over he carefully wipes his fingers on a napkin.

“May I have another?” Damen inquires, eyes like burning coal. Laurent knows exactly what he is doing, playing him at his own game – there are still plenty more courses to get through, courses  _ he  _ requested, so they are going to have to stay through the entire thing. Nobody around them, not even their closest friends, have dared to comment on the spectacle, either pretending not to watch or pointedly ignoring their Kings. Laurent  _ hates _ him.

“Certainly, my love,” he says, voice dripping. He reaches for a second sweetmeat and brings it to Damen’s lips; with a second of carefully considered hesitation Damen opens his mouth to accept it. Then he moves back and rests his hand on the inside of Laurent’s thigh, high enough to tease but low enough for it not to be seen as uncouth. He grabs his goblet with his other hand and knocks it against Laurent’s dutifully. Laurent glares.

As the wild boar is brought out, Damen’s hand begins to wander higher, now brushing the inseam of Laurent’s tightly laced pants. Feather-light touches stroke up and down and Laurent groans, then just as he’s about to snap Damen removes his hand and makes a rather ghastly display of dropping pulled meat into his gaping mouth.

Satisfied he’ll be all right to continue, Laurent begins to eat his own meal, which is really quite delicious. The meat is flavoured with his favourite herbs and served aside little round potatoes and fresh vegetables. There’s bread to mop up the gravy, and excellent wine in the jugs on the table. He feels merry and allows himself some time to relax into the jovial atmosphere and high spirits as he chats with Jord, Nikandros and other familiar faces pleasantly. Once the next course comes – this time, a lighter fayre of fresh fish caught today at the Gulf of Atros – he feels light and relaxed in a way he hasn’t in a while.

_ Maybe Damen has been right,  _ he battles with himself.  _ The worst is over, and now such occasions can be thrown in your name and honour in the palace of Ios without fear of repercussion. You are King of your own nation, and you have a lover you wish to remain coupled with permanently. You deserve this. _

The idea of deserving something is foreign, and the idea that this may have manifested itself as a possibility hits him hard, like a cold bucket of water. It’s enough to make him tense up, food halfway to his lips, and he lets out a short squeak that he’s too tipsy to cover up in time. Damen immediately turns in his direction, brows furrowed, and sets that hand back on his leg, though lower down this time.

“Lover, are you unwell?” he asks, the picture of concern.

“I don’t think so,” Laurent answers, slowly. He moves to slide his fingers through Damen’s, and Damen lets him, then raises both their hands to his mouth to press a kiss onto the back of Laurent’s, a silent but powerful message. Laurent copies the gesture with his own mouth, and it’s enough.

After that slight bump, the pair manage to return to their previous high spirits with relative ease. Laurent has another cup of wine and indulges in another course of delicious food, but once their plates have been cleared away and replaced with clean ones does the mischievous hand return to Laurent’s thigh. Laurent takes a deep breath and tries to swat him away, but Damen is devilish and doesn’t move. He starts to repeat the motions he was making earlier, light enough to not do anything too obvious but  _ there,  _ there enough for Laurent to be angry at his own body for betraying him.

Laurent just about manages the next two courses – a selection of Veretian cheeses, followed by candied fruits. Two more courses follow but he has truly no idea what he eats, too focused is he on Damen’s thumb, now rubbing smooth circles over the bottom of his bulge. When he rises to leave his arousal is going to be extremely obvious, and Laurent hates that Damen suddenly has the upper hand. Probably further payback for him asking for such a banquet at short notice.

When the stars are high in the sky and the room full of people drunk enough not to care about their presence, Laurent boots Damen hard in the shin. Damen flinches but obediently stands alongside Laurent, calling a few farewells to their closest friends. Laurent doesn’t even bother with the pleasantries – everyone was here in his honour anyway – and instead just grabs Damen around the wrist and yanks.

The walk (or stumble) back to their bedchambers feels a million times longer than it usually does. Laurent feels short of breath, perhaps drunker than he was anticipating, and definitely very full of food. If it wasn’t his Name Day, and if Damen wasn’t such a little tease, he probably wouldn’t be so tempted to lunge at him once they are back to their rooms. A heavy silence lingers, neither of them bothering to say anything. Damen probably knows he’ll get a slap or a biting comment if he dares, and Laurent is too focused on trying to get there without dropping to his knees then and there.

The only words uttered are to the guards: “Do not let anyone past here. Not even if the Kingdom is burning. You will wait, or so help me I will cut your tongues out.”

Damen snorts, then covers his mouth after he gets a sharp glare from Laurent. Laurent drags him through the doorway and kicks the door closed with a surprisingly well-aimed kick, then turns and puts his hands on his hips.

“Fuck you,” he breathes, hoping his glower is coming across as fierce as he wants it to, even with the alcohol coursing through his veins.

Damen ignores him. He takes a moment to look Laurent up and down, head to toe, then he crosses the room in two easy strides and slams their mouths together.

"Akielon brute," Laurent hisses, hands sliding up his chest to cup his neck. Damen smirks and digs his hands harder into Laurent's hips, eliciting a grunt from him. "You big giant animal, you insufferable  _ arse. _ "

"Yet I don't feel you pushing me away," Damen grins, then without warning spins them around, slamming Laurent against the wall of their chambers and attaching his mouth to his neck, sucking a bruise below his jaw. All words get lost in Laurent's throat and he moves his hands to grip at Damen's shoulders, head hitting the wall with a solid clunk. 

"I'm not going to push you away," he manages to stutter, and he feels Damen's smile more than he sees it. "I want this. I've wanted this all night."

"Good, because I've wanted you for longer," Damen mutters, switching sides. He licks a fat stripe up to the bottom of Laurent's chin and then they're kissing again, sloppily, dirty, hard. Suddenly Laurent's feet are off the ground and he moves against Damen's body as he's hoisted up, legs wrapping around his waist. Damen kisses with bite, then carefully moves them over to the bed, where he deposits Laurent. He then stands up and unpins his tunic, which crumples easily to the floor in a graceless heap. 

"If only my clothing were that easy," Laurent grunts, and for once he means it. Normally one to defend all the finery and the complicated garments, today he wants them off, wants to be as naked as Damen is now. 

"If only," Damen echoes, fingers already fumbling with the fiddly laces. One sleeve takes him a good few minutes, by the end of which Laurent thinks he might burst into flames. But instead of starting on the other sleeve, Damen eyes Laurent carefully, up and down, and then mumbles, "Oh, fuck it."

The sound of ripping is loud, loud enough that Laurent hears what Damen is doing before his brain catches up with him. And suddenly he is shirtless, naked from the waist up, and a startled laugh bubbles from his belly and he cackles loudly, if not louder than the ripping was, which makes Damen jump and remove his mouth from Laurent's now bare chest. 

"What?"

"You really are a brute," Laurent howls, unable to staunch his laughter even as he yanks Damen up to join their mouths. The kiss is messy and the air suddenly feels less charged than it did not a minute ago, and Laurent really, really loves Damen for being everything he never knew he wanted. 

Slowly but surely, with Damen's arms around him and their waists and thighs aligned, Laurent begins to feel himself harden. Damen must feel it too because he slides his hands down, teasing his fingers where the fabric of Laurent's pants hugs his hips. There are thankfully fewer laces keeping him confined to those, and with only minor fiddling and the slapping of hands does he manage to shove them down his legs. 

"Beautiful," Damen mutters, drinking in the sight of Laurent’s naked body. He ducks down once more, his hand sliding around the back of Laurent’s head, fisting in his hair, and Laurent’s lips part easily for Damen to kiss, and kiss, and kiss. It’s heady, smoky, fire burning low in his belly, the kind of arousal he feels for Damen. It’s nothing like anything he’s ever known, this feeling. He relishes it, spreading his legs easily and winding them around the tops of Damen’s thighs, letting him know what he wants.

And what he wants, he always gets.

They make love for what feels like decades, and Damen practically folds Laurent in half as he presses into him time after time, minute after minute. He sucks bruises into the pale skin of Laurent’s shoulders, his neck, his chest, and his fingers leave marks on his hips and thighs, a reminder of the physical side and enough for Laurent to wish he could leave them on Damen’s skin. It’s darker than normal now that it’s summer, but perhaps in the winter, if he’s feeling particularly cheeky one day.

Later, once the sky is dark and the candles have melted into waxy heaps on the floor, Damen pulls out then pulls the sheet up to cover their shoulders, bringing an exhausted Laurent to his chest.

“Did you have a good Name Day?”

“Yes,” Laurent replies, barely a whisper. “But I’d be having a better one if you shut your mouth and let me sleep.”

Damen laughs softly into the back of his neck, reaches for his hand, and kisses his hair. “Goodnight, lover,” he murmurs into the darkness. “Happy twenty-one.”

*

A choking sound. A gasp for air. Blackness. Something strong holding him in place. 

_ Fear. _

Laurent wakes with a jolt and tries to sit bolt upright, yet something stops him. He struggles, wanting free of these binds and away from the nightmare that just woke him up, but they are too strong. He panics, then he sees his uncle’s face in the blackness of his room, and that is when he begins to scream.

His binds don’t let up, as much as he struggles. He cannot  _ think,  _ everything is so deathly terrifying, and when he closes his eyes the face remains, this time with the smirk that he remembers, the one that means it is time for Laurent to join him in his bedchambers. He screams again.

“Laurent,” a voice is saying,  _ pleading,  _ but it is not the voice of his uncle. It is a voice that he knows, a voice that makes him want to open his eyes. “Laurent,  _ Laurent,  _ my love, please, it is I…”

“Get away from me,” he hisses, still fighting. “Get away from me, uncle, I am not…”

“Your uncle is dead,” the voice is saying. “He is dead, Laurent, he cannot hurt you, he cannot.”

“No,” Laurent still chokes, nails scratching harshly at his binds. They hiss, and that’s when Laurent realises they aren’t ropes, they are arms. “No, no, no, no, no…”

“Come back to me,” the voice continues. “It is me, your love, your Damianos.  _ Damen. _ ”

“Damen,” repeats Laurent, and once the word leaves his mouth he feels himself sag, all fight leaving his tired body. “Damen.”

“Damen,” the voice says again. “I am here, sweet boy. Come back to me.”

Laurent forces himself to open his eyes, and once Damen comes into view he lets himself fall into him, face buried in his chest and arms clutching limply at his shoulders. Damen lets out a ragged, relieved sigh and begins to rock him ever so slightly. The hand at the back of Laurent’s neck is firm, grounding. He takes a deep breath and kisses whatever part of Damen he is pressed to, their agreed signal that he understands that he is safe.

Damen kisses his hair and adjusts their positions so Laurent is more comfortable. The sheets are kicked away, too hot for them anyway, and Damen works to tangle their legs together so they are as physically close as they can be. They lie in silence for a good long while after that.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Laurent laughs, but there's no humour to it, hollow and tired. This is not the first time he's woken up like this, shaking and screaming, clawing at something that isn't there. He doesn't mention the fingernail marks on Damen's arm, just below his elbow. 

"No," he says, as he has every single time Damen has asked. He takes a shaky inhale and tries to steady his breathing, and it almost works until he remembers what his dream was about, a flash of red and white and gold, and he's choking again, struggling to breath and hot, too hot to be in Damen's arms but too weak to be anywhere else. 

" _ Laurent _ ," Damen says, firm and far away. His grip on Laurent's shoulders tightens, enough to hurt. It's good. Laurent wants it to hurt, needs it to hurt. "Laurent, love, it's me, your Damianos. There is nobody here but me."

"Damianos," Laurent tries to repeat, but his mouth gets stuck on the words. "My... my..."

"I love you," Damen says, pleading, and he still sounds far away, too far away. Laurent gulps for air and forces himself to breathe, in and out, in and out. After a minute, he coughs, and that's when the tears start to fall. 

Damen knows by now not to say anything at this stage of his battle, and that pleases Laurent. They'd learned the first time that Damen's words often come out jumbled, and he's not always one for being eloquent, not like Laurent at all in that respect. The last thing he wants is pity, and no matter how many times Damen denies it, Laurent knows there's pity there and it disgusts him. 

He's far too hot, the Akielon summer still too much for him at times, especially at night time. Close to Damen is where he's staying, however, so he makes no effort to move. Damen must be far too hot but long years in this country have taught him to get used to it. 

_ Or maybe that's just being in love, _ a tiny voice at the back of his mind says, not one he hears often. 

"Tell me you love me," Laurent begs desperately, his guard down enough to listen to the voice for once. "I need to hear it."

Clearly taken aback, his unsuspecting lover croaks, "I love you to the ends of the words, sweet Laurent. I love you more than the moon loves the stars and the sun loves the earth. I wish you would let me tell you more often, my love."

"I'm letting you tell me now, what more do you want?" Laurent pretends to grumble, but he's finally smiling, albeit a weak one. Another shiver runs through him and his eyes fall closed as Damen presses a kiss to his forehead, sloppy and wet. "I suppose you want to hear it back?"

"I don't need to hear it back," Damen says gently. "The knowledge that you love me is the knowledge I hold closest to my heart, always."

"Then..." Laurent starts, then silences himself. Damen puts a hand in his hair and starts to stroke, perhaps one of Laurent's favourite things in the world. But even that cannot help him shake his fears – he believed he deserved good things, just for a few hours, and then his past came out of the dark and reminded him for the thousandth time why he doesn’t. And he hates how he needs this, to be comforted like an animal in distress, and he hates how vulnerable he lets himself be around his lover when Damen is the brute that began this whole mess in the first place. 

_ No _ , the voice in his mind reminds him firmly.  _ You don't believe that and you never will. Damen wasn't to know. He isn't to blame.  _

"Am I weak?" he asks next, hating and needing the answer in equal measure. "It's been two years, Damen, and yet here I am crying like a child..."

"Quiet," Damen commands, voice rough like gravel and firmer than his grip on Laurent's arm. Laurent, for once, shuts up. "The day I find you weak is the day we see people return from the dead. You will never be weak in my eyes."

"But in the eyes of others? Am I a weak King?"

"Never," Damen says again. He sounds almost angry. "The best man in Akielos lies beside me and he is not even of Akielon blood. You outshine any man, woman, or ghost I've ever known, Laurent. You rule your nation proudly and justly, with intelligence and grace that people could only dream of achieving. Men and women all over look up to you and all that you are. History books will be written on you, the greatest King that Vere has ever seen. Weak, no. Hurt, yes, but given your past..."

The way his eyes go misty and his mouth sets in a tight line is something Laurent has become accustomed to seeing. It's the face he wears when he's plotting yet another implausible scheme to keeping hurting a dead man. Laurent loves him so much. 

"I wish I knew what to say, at a time like says," Laurent says eventually. "I wish I felt like I was free."

"You cannot help how you feel," Damen says, his hands once again in Laurent's hair. "And if how you feel is hurt then..."

"This feels a little more than just hurt, Damen," Laurent interrupts sharply. "Do not insult me by reducing it to hurt. Do you know how difficult it is for me to show you this side of myself, even after all this time?"

Damen sighs. Eventually, he says, "I believe I have some idea, yes. And it hurts me as well. Imagine seeing the man you love wake night after screaming in your arms because..."

"I don't have to imagine," Laurent snaps. "I live it. If you don't want to see it then move bedchambers."

Hurt flashes across Damen's face, the way it always does when one of Laurent's plethora of insults hits him unaware. "No," he says lowly, his following exhale shaky. "I don't want that. You don't want that either."

Laurent doesn't want Damen to move bedchambers, not even a little bit, but he'll be damned if he says that aloud. He groans. 

"Will you just..." he starts, pausing as he gauges Damen's reaction. Stupidly, he realises that this is Damen, and of all the things he needs to worry about it isn't Damen pushing him away. "Hold me? I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

Back to chest, Damen turns them so they're on their sides, his giant hand splayed flat on the soft plains of Laurent's stomach. A kiss is pressed into the back of his neck. "I know," he murmurs, following his words with another kiss. "I know."

Laurent grips at Damen's hands, probably painful, and says, "I do love you very much, Damianos."

A smile, a quiet laugh. "I know."

"Will you stop being so reasonable and sweet?" Laurent huffs. Damen shakes his head. "I withdraw my earlier statement. I find you quite repulsive, actually."

"Big words from someone who had me in their mouth not six hours ago."

Laurent swats at him weakly, then let's his eyes fall closed. Sleep usually isn't easy for him after a nightmare but his exhaustion takes him and he tumbles into the inky blackness with relative ease, Damen's strong body never moving from his side. 

When he wakes, it's light. Usually an early riser, this is an odd turn of events for Laurent, but he's pleased enough that he managed at least a fair amount of sleep. The exhaustion he feels heavy in his bones is something he's mostly gotten used to, not sure it'll ever fully subside. 

Damen is still beside him, propped up on one elbow, staring. Laurent's words last night were quite wrong - he's not sure anyone in the world is more beautiful than his Damianos. His lover is incredibly attractive, all long, strong limbs, supple skin and soft smiles. His face, almost always smiling when he's looking in Laurent's direction, is bright and beautiful. Laurent loves every single piece of him, from the curls that dance around his ears to the cold feet he likes to press against Laurent's calves in the night. 

He doesn't think about his back. Nothing about Damen's back pleases him, and it makes him rather cross and upset to think about it. 

"Hello, lover," Damen breathes, butter soft, a clumsy hand reaching for him. Laurent takes it happily and squeezes, nuzzling his face into the his slightly calloused palm. A quick roll forward and he's in Damen's arms again, where he winds his own around his neck and presses a small, feather light kiss to the corner of Damen's mouth. 

"Good morning, my Damianos," he coos, half sarcasm, half sleep. Damen grins. "My big strong Akielon brute."

"Bit rude," Damen tuts, but his smile doesn't fade. Laurent still feels a tad unaccustomed to the way Damen is always looking at him, with that look he reserves only for Laurent. It's unnerving and while Laurent is loathed to describe it as flattering, that's how it feels. 

"I can be ruder," Laurent reminds him, matching Damen's beam. "I could remind you that your morning breath is something I find quite repulsive and that you are very sticky with sweat. It's not that nice to be pressed against you like this."

"Yet you're the one who rolled to me," Damen huffs, then ignores Laurent's crash splutter and kisses him soundly on the mouth. He licks into Laurent's mouth with more gusto than the smaller man was ready for, and he wants to pull away and tell him off but he can't bring himself to. 

They kiss and they kiss, until there's a harsh knock on the door, a guard no doubt. Laurent groans but doesn't remove his mouth from Damen's. 

"Can you get rid of them?" he mumbles against his lips. "I was beginning to think this was going somewhere exciting."

Damen, to Laurent's great displeasure, pulls back and shakes his head, then scrambles off the bed. "Enter," he booms. 

Laurent props himself up on both elbows and watches, sourly, as the guard enters and bows his head in greeting. "Exalted, Your Highness," he begins. "I have a delivery here from Paschal. Do you want it brought in or taken to the kitchens?"

"Give it to me," Damen says, hand outstretched already. Interest piqued, Laurent tries to catch a glimpse of it, but Damen's huge hands hide it from view with ease. 

The guard bows and leaves, and Damen turns his back but brings whatever is in his hands to the front so it still remains hidden from sight. Laurent groans loudly.

“And what have you there?” he asks, voice raised, making a show of his curiosity. Damen doesn’t answer, so Laurent slides out of bed, still naked, and shuffles over to where he stands. He wraps his arms around Damen’s middle and kisses his shoulder, then leans back as Damen goes still, which is very unlike him. “What’s the matter?”

“I do not want you to be angry at me,” Damen mumbles. It’s then Laurent realises he’s wearing pants, Veretian pants no less, having gone to bed completely bare. This means he must have gone out and left Laurent asleep, because Damen hates clothes at the best of times, but none more so than pants. He calls them restrictive and scorns Laurent’s choice of style almost every day.

“Then don’t give me a reason to be,” Laurent answers, soft. He isn’t mad, just confused, but he will get mad if Damen persists in keeping this a secret. “What did you get from Paschal? Are you not well?” Damen doesn’t answer, and the realisation of the silence hits Laurent like a cold, crashing wave. He drops his arms from Damen’s waist and steps backwards. “Are you… do you think  _ me  _ unwell?”

“Not unwell,” Damen croaks. “Not unwell, but just… you are still so troubled, lover, troubled and I want to have a hand in trying to lift that from you.”

A humourless laugh bubbles in Laurent’s throat, and he moves to grab a loose sheet from the bed to wind around his naked body. “And you think you can do that with a  _ salve _ ?”

“It isn’t a salve,” Damen sighs, like he’s already braced for an argument. “It’s a draft, a sleeping draft. Take some with your drink before bed and you should fall into a much deeper sleep.”

Laurent looks at him like he’s gone mad. “You think… you think helping me sleep is going to better me? You wish me cured, is that it?”

“Of course I wish you cured, but…”

“I am not sick,” Laurent interrupts hotly. “There is nothing to be cured. My past is my past. It is unchangeable, Damen. Do you wish it changed?”

“I do if it would lift the burden from your shoulders and…”

“Do you not think I have not tried remedies from Paschal in the past?”

“I assumed so, but he tells me this is new.”

“So you went behind my back to discuss this with Paschal?” Laurent presses. “You went to discuss something I have very, very carefully asked you not to discuss with others without my express permission with someone who thinks it is easily fixed?”

“Please don’t be mad,” Damen begs, reaching for him. His fingers touch Laurent’s wrist but he hisses and Damen instantly recoils. “I only do and act with your best intentions at heart, Laurent.”

“But my past cannot be changed,  _ ever.  _ So what, this draft helps me sleep? Then what? Will that stop me thinking he may be behind me when I walk through the palace corridors alone? Will that stop me from hating myself as I do? Will it stop how I still flinch sometimes when you touch me when I don’t anticipate it? Well, will it?”

Damen bounces on the heels of his bare feet, like he wishes to move forward but knows better. “Cure you is the wrong phrasing,” he says quietly after a time. “I fell in love with the man in front of me and I fell in love with everything about him. What hurts me is that I adore you so much, yet you hate the person I love the most. It is a constant ache in my heart.”

Laurent stands stock still, his chest rising and falling harshly as he tries to find oxygen. “You can leave if it hurts you that much,” he eventually rasps. “I can ride back to Vere easily, and…”

“Do not be ridiculous. That is the last thing I want,” Damen cuts in snappily. “I don’t want you to leave me, and I will for certain not be leaving you. I just wanted to help.”

They both stay silent for a long time, and after a good few minutes Damen moves past him and exits the room. The door booms as it slams shut and Laurent feels numb, so numb, as he stays standing, rigid and upset and so, so tired. He finds himself moving towards the bed where he lies back down, and he gathers all the sheets and covers himself with them, burying himself under silk and cotton like it will protect him from the world.

He doesn’t have long to mope though, because Damen returns to the room barely a few minutes later. Laurent jumps, his mind still racing a million miles an hour, and within seconds Damen is over to him, lying on the bed, close but not quite touching, not without Laurent’s express permission. Staring at him now, eyes wide, mouth slack, Laurent hates how much he needs to be held.

“I hate you so much,” he whispers, for if he speaks any louder he fears his voice might crack. “I really hate you. I don’t want to look at you.”

“Okay,” Damen says, unmoving. “Do you want to sleep?”

Laurent glares. “You think I’ll be able to sleep after this?” He sighs and rolls onto his back. “You know, Damen, sometimes you manage to convince you are not stupid and then you say things that make all your hard work crumble in seconds.”

“I hurt you,” Damen whispers. “I’m sorry. I never want to hurt you. He…”

“Shut your mouth,” Laurent hisses. “Do not continue. Shut up and leave me alone.”

Damen doesn’t leave him alone. Damen keeps lying there, watching him, and Laurent keeps lying there, pointedly not watching back. The anger burning through his veins is a course one, one he’s not felt in a long time. He isn’t sure what to say, or do, or feel, and all manner of their words keep rotating and repeating in his mind. He wants to scream, he wants to kick, he wants to cry, he wants to  _ hurt.  _ When you hurt so much you don’t know how to stop it hurting you seek solace where you can, and Laurent’s solace just ripped out his heart and stamped on it.

_ I want you to be cured. _

“Would you really have me changed?” he spits, sitting up abruptly and startling them both. “Because if you have it on Paschal’s authority that this salve will better me and make me forget then by all means, pour it in my wine.”

Damen is quiet, reluctant. Finally, he says, “No. It will not help you forget, and it certainly won’t make you a better man. I don’t see how you can become a better man when you are already the greatest in my eyes.”

“Charming,” sneers Laurent. “I am glad to live up to the Damianos standard of what is appropriate. Where can I go from here?”

“You could let me apologise,” Damen tries. He snatches Laurent’s hand before he has time to move it away, and holds it tight even as Laurent squirms. “I ache to make this better.” He sighs and then groans. “You know I am poor with words. I try with gestures, and then they get misinterpreted, and then I try and explain and my words… they get jumbled and I upset you more…” Laurent turns to snap at him, ready to go in with more biting words, but he stops as he sees a wetness on Damen’s cheeks. “I want you to be happy. That is my prerogative in all I do. Your Name Day… I upset you and it took a feast to win you back. Today… well, I fear this may be much grander but I will do it. I just want to see the sun rise in your eyes as it does when you love me.”

“Don’t cry,” is all Laurent says, voice small. “I hate it when you cry.”

“And I hate it when you hurt,” Damen replies, sniffing. He uses his free hand to rub his nose. “We are so good at hurting one another and I hate it, I just hate it.”

“I don’t know how to stop,” Laurent finds himself mumbling. “I love you always, Damianos, but by the gods above us, you just upset me so much.”

“I love you too,” Damen rushes out, and as he speaks the words he dares to shuffle a little closer. “I…”

“I am still so fucking mad at you,” Laurent says. “You are a fool with words, you are not wrong there. But you are also so, so good to me, and I know you just wish to help. I wish you…” He takes a deep breath and lets his eyes fold closed, his head lolling back against the soft pillow, “I wish I could see in me what it is you want to help.”

“I don’t want to help anything you don’t want me to,” Damen says. “If you ask me to I’ll stop trying, but you’ve never asked me to. You let me hold you when the tears start and you talk to me when you are having a terrible day and you… you let me see more of you than I think you have let anyone see. An honour, I count that as.”

“I am not to be fixed, though. You know that, right?” Laurent asks, voice small and careful.

“I do,” Damen nods. “I do not think you broken. I never thought you broken, Laurent. I think you brilliant and beautiful and so, so strong.” He kisses the back of Laurent’s hand. “So will you forgive me?”

“No,” Laurent says, but he moves closer to Damen regardless. “I don’t forgive what you said, but I don’t want to spend our limited time alone together fighting. I think we need to talk a lot about things, yes, but I do not feel like doing that today.”

Damen nods. “Understood. I understand.” A pause. “Do you want me to stay or to go?”

“To stay,” Laurent says, a beat too fast. He curses himself internally. “I would…” Another pause. “If we are going to start being in the business of talking then I would like you not to look at me when I ask you to hold me.”

A quick flash of hurt, but Damen nods quickly and it’s gone. “Yes, of course,” he breathes, sounding more relieved than anything else. “Now?”

“Now.”

Damen shuffles forward and winds an arm around Laurent’s back, and they squash close together and Damen kisses Laurent’s hair and Laurent mumbles a lot of curse words into Damen’s chest and they don’t move. They remain still until Damen’s stomach rumbles, loudly, and Laurent begins to laugh. He pulls back and kisses the corner of his mouth, not quite his lips.

“Make me forget our fight,” he says, like it is that simple. “Make me happy.”

So Damen goes and requests a guard order them luncheon, and in their rooms a roast chicken and Laurent’s favourite breads and fruits are served to them. Later, Damen washes his hair and then braids it sloppily, and he listens intently as Laurent pulls out an Akielon book to practice his reading on. They don’t make love that night, but they sleep pressed together despite the heat and the residual tension.

The vial of sleeping draft goes untouched atop Damen’s dresser.

Laurent sleeps the whole night through and wakes up with Damen’s mouth around his cock.

*

The next two days are better. Damen sleeps late on both occasions and wakes to a still-sleeping Laurent, which is one of his favourite views. They stay close; they bathe and they eat and they read together, and once it gets a little darker and Laurent finds himself relaxed enough they talk. They talk for hours, well into the night, not sat as they normally would be in bed but across from one another, legs crossed like children in lessons.

Hours and hours pass. Words fly between them like birds in the spring, and no topic is off limits as they hash out any contentions. Nothing about their conversation is easy, but their issues have been voiced, and that is a start at least. Laurent asks for Damen to stop seeing him as a soul that needs saving, and in return Damen requests that Laurent stops trying to push him away when he’s hurting.

And maybe he could ask for his banquets to be organised with a little longer to do so, if he pleases.

And Damen can’t help but look at the King in front of him and at times think  _ he is so young, and yet he carries so much with him  _ and also  _ he deserves everything, more than I or anyone on this earth can give him. _

_ He was just a boy. _

It is written that time heals even the greatest pain. Damen isn’t sure if that is necessarily true for Laurent, because he has been by his side for two years of nightmares and flinches and cutting words. Things get easier but never easy. And he does know that time has allowed Laurent to teach himself things, to distract from his pain and bring in some light through the windows he kept locked tight for so long. He doubts whether Laurent will ever live a life completely pain free, and while that hurts him to think of, he now understands that this is his Laurent. This is his forever. He cannot fix or cure or alter what has been, but he can be there and he can be strong alongside him, and if he needs to be held then he’ll do so until he can’t anymore.

There is time, Damen reminds Laurent as they finally move to hold one another, laying atop their covers in each other’s arms and kissing softly, reverently. As Laurent has reminded him, you cannot fix what was shattered with ease. It takes time, and thankfully, time is something they have.

*

“I never gave you your Name Day present,” Damen murmurs some time later into the darkness. Laurent turns to face him – he was ready to sleep, but now he’s very interested in what Damen has to say and offer. “I found it incredibly hard at first, as you might imagine. What does one get the King when they have everything?”

“So what did you get me?” Laurent says, then prods harshly at Damen’s nipple when the only response he gets is a coy smile. “Damianos, you cannot just dangle this string in front of my eyes.”

“Do you want me to go and get it?”

“Yes.”

“Right now?”

“Alright, alright,” Damen says, hands up in defence. He pulls the sheet from his shoulders and pads over to the chest of drawers on the opposite side of the room. Laurent sits up, sheets pooling at his waist, and licks his lips.

It takes Damen a few moments to find whatever he’s looking for, but when he does he keeps it hidden behind his back. Laurent pouts, and when Damen opts to stand a couple of feet from the bed rather than getting back into it, he pouts some more.

“What are you doing?”

“Well, you see,” Damen starts, then before Laurent’s brain can catch up Damen drops down to one knee in front of the bed and pulls out the object behind his back,  _ a ring. _

A gold band and a single blue gemstone inside. Blue not dissimilar to the colour of Laurent’s eyes. Going rigid, Laurent stares at it with wide eyes. He doesn’t speak, mainly because right now he isn’t sure that he can.

“Laurent, King of Vere, love of my life,” Damen speaks, nerves tinging his tone. “I have loved you every day for the two years before today, and I will love you until my dying day. You are the sun. I want you to be my husband. Will you give me that honour?”

“Yes,” Laurent blurts, unthinking, unmoving. Damen repeats the words then rises to his feet, and Laurent lunges from the bed to meet him halfway, arms thrown around his shoulders and mouth kissing whatever part of Damen it meets first.

They kiss, and they kiss, and they kiss, until Laurent pulls back, hands cupping Damen’s smiling cheeks. “You complete arse,” he breathes, then kisses him once more. “You waited all this time?  _ Yes. _ ”

“I love you so much,” Damen says in lieu of a real reply. He grabs Laurent’s hand and slides the ring on, taking a step back enough to admire the sight. “Laurent…”

“I love you too,” Laurent echoes. He feels like he’s soaring through the clouds; this is an ecstasy unlike any he has ever known. “Damianos of Akielos, I...”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t need to. A tear slides down his cheek, and Damen is quick to wipe it away. He pretends he hasn’t seen it, then pushes Laurent to the bed once more, looming over him, where he murmurs, “You are the greatest thing that has ever happened to me.”

And they kiss, and they kiss, and they kiss.

 

ENDS

 


End file.
